In case you’re unaware because you’ve been in a coma and forgot to visit here this week, SHAME ON YOU. AND WAKE UP. I’m giving away $100 worth of Harry Mason eargasms! Everyone who enters gets a little eargasm too! Click that link and your ears will kiss you with tongue.
Moving on …
This is the soundtrack to my family’s ski excursion last Saturday. I’m tentatively calling it People Who Design Ski Boots Are Douche Waffles Who Should Be Strung Up by Their Genitals. I like to play it over and over again in my head as I imagine myself whipping that bunny hill’s ass and nailing it to a wall and sometimes, if I try really hard, I’ll forget the part where I regress and cry like a girly baby girl and beg to go home so I can stuff my king-sized comforter into our brand new front loader because shoving dirty bedding into technology doesn’t require skill or stamina and sounds like a lot more fun than strapping two ton steel moon boots to my feet and walking around like a myopic arthritic hobbit with three broken knee caps who just paid $150 for the privilege of careening off a cliff and slamming into a tree.
There’s a whopping 25 tracks on this album. Right now it’s free but ten years from now, I’m going to release it as a “Best Of ” collection and I’m penciling in Kevin Cronin to co-host a 3AM infomercial with me on the Bravo Channel to hock it for three easy payments of $19.99 plus shipping and handling. BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE. If you ordered right away, you’d get another one for free! Just pay extra shipping and handling! I’ve scheduled Kevin now because I believe it’s always good to be prepared way in advance. For instance, I’m having my leather micro-mini skirt and sequined tank top dry cleaned as I type and I’ve got Mike Reno and Loverboy on standby, just in case REO Speedwagon can’t get a day pass from the nursing home that day.
P.S.: If you hear any laughter in the background of this record, I will deny, deny, deny until the cows come home but only because I worked really hard on perfecting these lyrics while subjecting myself to more failed attempts at athleticism over the years than my family cares to remember without therapy and I don’t want anything to detract from their brutal honestly and vulnerability and negatively impact my potential sales.
It’s not because I want anyone to think I might have wound up actually enjoying myself during this whole ski ordeal. Certainly not.
People Who Design Ski Boots are Douche Waffles Who Should Be Strung Up by Their Genitals
- OW. OW. OW. OW. OW. OW. OW.
- Why do these boots weigh more than baby cows?
- Is there a short, fat, dowdy woman named Annie Wilkes going to town on my ankles with a sledgehammer?
- Oomph … ugh … gah … argh … ugh … oomph … OK, I’m standing! Wait. Nevermind.
- So, there’s a tram to the bunny hill, right?
- Stairs? I think that’s illegal.
- I cannot believe they allow just anyone to ski. You need a license to use a car or a boat or a gun but they’ll let any uptight, paranoid, anxiety-ridden, premenopausal, athletically challenged, uncoordinated freak of nature slap on skis. THIS COUNTRY IS GOING TO POT AND I DON’T CARE WHO KNOWS IT.
- It’s uphill. Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?
- Ummmm, no. I haven’t skied before. Well, ok, once. But I wouldn’t call that skiing. More like, unsuppressed slippage with wild abandon.
- Squish the bug. Glide. Squish the bug. Glide. Squish the bug. Glide. You know what? BUGS SUCK.
- Wait for me! I’m coming! Hang on a sec. Wait up!
- Just go. When you get there, send a hearse.
- Help? Ummm, yep. Help. Definitely HELLLLLLLLLP.
- We’re doing this, why?
- OH MY GOD, I’M SKIING! OH MY GOD, I’M SKIING!
- OH MY GOD, NO I’M NOT.
- Squish. Squish. Squish. Squish. Where the hell did the glide go?
- Zoe, look back there. I think I just ran over a small child.
- AAACCCKKKK … WHAT DO I DO? WHAT DO I DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO?
- Why is my leg way the hell over there? Can someone move it over here? And find my other one?
- LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME!
- Stop looking at me.
- What time is it? We’ve been here, what? Three days so far?
- Everything hurts. Wait … no, no, … yep. Everything.